Father Figure
by TwoCentsForFree
Summary: For one fleeting moment, he knew what it was like to have a Dad. Will/Finn friendship. Could be seen as slight slash, but isn't intended as such. Continuation of the auditorium scene from "Preggers."


**A/N: Okay, here we go. This is something new I'm trying. I am a HUGE Gleek, and decided I wouldn't be nerdy enough unless I wrote a fic for it--LOL. Just a sort of introspective missing scene drawn from the one taking place between Will and Finn in the auditorium during "Preggers." Enjoy, and review. Reviews fill me with…well, glee. =0)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own…not so gleeful anymore… =0(**

Father Figure

For one fleeting moment, he knew what it was like to have a Dad. Will/Finn friendship. Could be seen as slight slash, but not intended to be.

The boy walked into the auditorium, eyes brimming with unshed tears. Rehearsal had long since ended, and he was praying that Mr. Shuester was still around. Who else could he turn to? No one. He was relieved to see the man standing over by the piano. The teacher seemed slightly hassled, and Finn briefly debated bothering him. But it was urgent, and he was the only person who could help. Will looked up after a moment--it seemed like something was eating at the kid, even at a distance. Finn slowly walked over, desperately trying to regain the grip he was losing on his emotions.

"Hey Finn, what's up?" That was all it took to make the last of Finn's walls come crashing down, and he fell, sobbing, into his teacher's arms. Will stuffed down his surprise and concern, and tried to concentrate solely on comforting his student.

"Hey, it's okay," he said, pressing Finn close. It felt like he should be saying something more, but what else could he say? "It's okay…" It was quiet for a minute or two as the man allowed the boy to cry into his favorite sweater vest. "Are you all right?" Will asked gently, pulling away. Finn shook his head.

"I'm scared, Mr. Shue…I'm so scared…" he admitted, his voice shaking. Finn was normally so austere--this was certainly a change. The elder nodded.

"We'll fix it, Finn, all right? Whatever's going on, we'll get it straightened out. I promise. But you've gotta tell me exactly _what's_ going on." The younger sniffled, wiping his usually intense brown eyes.

"Not here," he said. "I can't tell you here." Will sighed a little. Today wasn't easy on any front.

"How about we go get some lunch?" he suggested. "Then we can talk." Finn gave him a small smile, the first real smile since Quinn had told him the news.

"Okay…that sounds good." The teacher grinned.

"Cool--so I'll meet you at the café in ten minutes." Their gazes locked, and within each there was a deep, abiding love and respect for the other--as a performer, and as a friend.

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Not long after, the two were seated at a table in the local all-you-can-eat restaurant.

"So what's going on, Finn?" Will coaxed, his voice low, but tender. The boy cast his eyes downward, all at once ashamed and frightened. He fiddled with the silverware in front of him, remaining silent, trying to avoid his teacher's questioning eyes. Finn was surprised when the man reached across the table and grabbed his wrist. "Look--you can tell me anything," the man said. "I'm not gonna judge you, Finn. I just wanna help." Finn looked up, gathering enough of himself to mutter,

"Quinn's pregnant." Will arched an eyebrow, an automatic response.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Quinn's pregnant," Finn said again. "And it's mine." It was quiet; Will Shuester had gotten what he wanted, he'd gotten an answer. But he could scarcely believe what he'd heard.

"You're sure?" he croaked out after rediscovering his voice. Finn nodded solemnly. Will rose and walked over, wordlessly wrapping Finn in a firm embrace, which the other gratefully returned. "You'll be fine," he whispered, once again resorting to the only words that came to mind, but this time sincerely believing them. Before they broke apart, Finn was hit with a realization: This was the sort of thing that fathers did--offer reassurance, not judgment--to their child when something was wrong. He barely remembered his father now, only as some distant memory interwoven with a threadbare baby blanket. And somehow, that wasn't quite enough. But then there was Mr. Shuester, who was lots of things, to lots of people--some things he didn't even have to be.

Teacher.

Director.

Friend.

And for Finn Hudson, a sort of father figure.

And as they got in line to get food, the boy articulated just how grateful he was, although no mere words could do it true justice.

"Thanks a lot for this, Mr. Shue--couldn't talk to my Mom, ya know?" _But I can talk to you. _

_And that made all the difference in the world._


End file.
